"A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. All at once Melusine remembered Pottiswick, and the errand he had run. "And when I further tell you," continued Jack, "that, after yourself and my mother, I am the next heir to the estates of my grandfather, Sir Montacute Trenchard, you will perhaps own that my caution is sufficiently disinterested. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray.
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